


815: A Brief History of Time

by kiki_miserychic



Category: Lost
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, Episode s01e13 Hearts and Minds, F/M, Flashbacks, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiki_miserychic/pseuds/kiki_miserychic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s their history told in short bursts of 15 drabbles that work on the theory that the number 815 is important in “Lost”. 815 used as the date August 15th of the years after Shannon and Boone met until they’re on the island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	815: A Brief History of Time

I. August 15, 1991: _saviors and saints . devils and demons alike . she’ll eat you alive_

“You’re going to get a sister this afternoon.” Boone’s mother told him at breakfast. He looked at her with all the incredulity of a ten year old boy, thinking she was trying to trick him. He had learned all about how babies were born and he knew his mother wasn’t going to have a baby. He wasn’t stupid; he knew they weren’t really delivered by storks.

“No, I’m not.” He argued back over his hot oatmeal and brown sugar.

“Don’t be ignorant. I was going to tell you earlier, but I thought it would upset you.” Sabrina continued on about how he was getting a new father as well, better than first. He didn’t listen to her, knowing that he should because it was important. He liked being the only child, he never liked anyone she brought home, and they always left after a while anyways. He assumed that this would be the same and went on with eating his breakfast because it was the most important meal of the day.

That afternoon there was no stork, instead there was a girl who stood beside her father on the other side of the room. Boone sat on the floor next to his mother with his fingers snaked into the coarse fabric of the edges of her dress. She said that the effect of the fabric far outweighed the touch. The adults sat next to each other on the couch and talked in adult ways about adult things and Boone tried to listen, but he kept looking at the girl. She had long blond hair that nearly reached her waist. Looking at her father, it was clear that she must look like her mother.

Boone cast a scornful look at the girl out of spite. He knew that later he’d have to share his things with her and little girls messed up everything, just like babies did. She sat prim and proper on the seat next to her father. She seemed older than Boone, but she was too little to be that self-possessed. She wore an aqua blue dress that reached down to her knees. Her hair was done in light curls and Boone could have sworn that the pearls around her neck were real. From the looks her the rest of her attire, she must have insisted on Saddle shoes. Boone and the girl were ushered out of the room not long after entering it.

“Ok, Girl, these are my things, so don’t touch them. You can sit on the bed and be quiet.” Boone had told her the second his bedroom door had been pulled closed and the footsteps had faded down the hall. He had been ready for an argument, but none came. The girl crawled up on the bed and hovered over the edge. The tears he had expected were absent, so he ignored her in favor of reading one of his books.

From the bed, Boone could see her smile mocking him, thinking that she had won. Silly girl. He stood up and handed her an old Raggedy Andy doll that he had been meaning to get rid of for weeks.

“Thank you.” The girl seemed pleased to be given the ugly thing, so he snatched it back just as her fingers had curled around the arms. Her face crumpled slightly at the edges of her eyes and mouth. The tears he had wanted to see were there now, but he wanted to wipe them away instead of make her produce more. Revolted by his thought, he threw the doll back at her. Her tiny hands grasped to the feet and her bawling ceased. He told himself that it was only to shut her up.

The wedding was sometime in the next year, Boone cannot recall the date, but he still thinks it was the ugliest wedding he’d ever seen.

 

II. August 15, 1992: _so baby don’t move at all . cause you’re about to break my fall_

“Boone, are you awake? Boone?” Shannon’s hands poked at his shoulders until he could no longer deny that he wasn’t sleeping.

“Yep,” was his answer.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Her breathing was labored and he knew she either had an attack or was about to. Boone shot up in bed and immediately started fussing over her, but she forced him to stop by curling into a ball on the bed.

“What’s wrong? I’ll get Mom.” Boone started for the door, but Shannon yanked his pajamas top and he fell back onto the bed.

“Already tried, she told me to calm down.” Shannon explained. Her father was gone on business and Boone had to admit that his mother wasn’t the best at taking care of people when they were sick.

“I’m here. It’ll be fine. I’ll take care of you.” Boone righted himself, sitting with his back flush with his headboard. “Come ‘ere.” He motioned for her to sit beside him. She was careful not to move too fast and intensify the feeling in her throat and chest.

“Daddy has me starting singing lessons next month. The doctor said it would help me with my breathing.” Shannon seemed to be happy in spite of her labored breaths. She was too hot under her cotton gown, so Boone kicked the covers off the bed and to the floor. Shannon laughed at them hitting floor and Boone used his arms to move her more in front of him. Her back to his chest, his chin to the top of her head, and her breathing pattern to his.

 

III. August 15, 1993: _life is good . and i feel great . cause mother says i was . a great mistake_

Most nights Shannon slept in Boone’s room. He could predict her entrance by the numbers glowing from his clock. Always more than a half an hour, but never longer than an hour after they’d been tucked in. Right on time, the door had opened and a warm body insinuated itself into the bedding. 

“We have to get up and clean this, Boone.” He had been asleep when he heard Shannon’s careful speech pattern. His eyes opened to a sight that would make his mother yell at him again. Boone flew out of bed in embarrassment and started ripping the urine soaked sheets off the bed, throwing them into a heap on the floor. Shannon had tried to help him, but he held his hands up and she knew not to press the matter any longer.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” He mumbled as he rummaged through some of his dresser drawers for clean clothes. Rushing into the adjoining bathroom to clean himself up and put his soiled clothing into the trash can, he hoped no one would call attention to them in favor of simply throwing them away. When he reentered his bedroom, Shannon was gone as well his bedding. Boone rocketed around the house to find Shannon sitting on top of the drier in the laundry room with one of the maids standing with her arms crossed in front of her.

“It’s my fault. I was thirsty and I wanted something to drink. I knew I shouldn’t have brought it with me, but I thought that Boone might be thirsty too. I woke him up and he hit my arm, knocking over the cup. It’s all my fault. I should have been more careful.” Shannon talked slowly, making eye contact and crumpling her face at the perfect time.

“It’s ok. I won’t tell Mrs. Carlisle. Don’t worry dear, there’s no need to cry.” Everyone was clay in her hands and they knew it. The maid must have figured out what was actually going on because when she saw Boone, she gave him a sad look before adding detergent to the water.

“Oh goodie. Thanks a million. It’s taken care of, Boone. They’ll be back on your bed by morning.” She hopped off, taking his hand and pulling him back upstairs.

Boone wondered how many other times and situations Shannon had been the one taking care of him, but he couldn’t ask because they were passing by their parent’s room and by the time he thought to speak, Shannon was pulling Boone into her girlishly decorated room.

 

IV. August 15, 1994: _it was almost too bright to see . and i know that it’s not a party if it happens every night . pretending there’s glamour and candelabra_

Sabrina brought her fork and other utensils up to meet her mouth, being careful to never lower her head to the plate. Across the table, her husband picked at his food and the children had begun to do the same.

“Do not play in your food. It’s rude and being rude shows weakness. We don’t want to be weak, now do we, Boone?” She stared straight ahead, not having to glance over to know that her son was straightening up in his chair to her left. Shannon, on the other hand and side of the table, continued to mash her caviar into the surrounding foods.

“No, Mother,” Boone shot a look over the table that told Shannon not to draw attention to herself. She promptly placed her fork in its proper place, having not eaten a thing.

“We’ll be back late tonight, so I expect you to be reasonable with the help while we’re gone.” Their parents were going to a charity event in the city, but Sabrina had insisted on eating dinner together before leaving. Boone thought it was because she wanted to eat with the family, but Shannon knew it was because she didn’t want to be seen eating at the event.

The table was cleared and their parents left in a flash of black, white, and glittering diamond.

“I want to play dress up.” Shannon ran up the stairs faster than Boone could catch up. She disappeared into their parent’s room and into Sabrina’s closet.

“What are you doing? We don’t want to get in trouble.” Boone launched himself onto the bed, landing on his stomach, then using his momentum to start jumping on the bed. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. In fact, he’d never done this before, but with Shannon around it felt safe to do something bad.

“What do you think?” The closet door swung open to expose a Shannon dressed in his mother’s favorite black cocktail dress with a neckline that went across the collarbone from shoulder to shoulder. It was meant to be an unadorned knee length garment, but on Shannon it reached the floor.

“We’ll get in trouble.” Boone stared before warning her, like she knew he would.

“No we won’t.” She persisted, tossing him one of her father’s dinner jacket’s. Without reluctance, Boone shrugged into it, having always wanted to know if he would feel different wearing it.

“How was your day, dear?” They were seated at the heads of the dinner table. None of the staff had dared question what they were doing. They figured it was safer to plea ignorance if asked later. Shannon raised her glass of milk and drank it, pretending it was the stuff that bubbled in Sabrina’s glass.

“Dreadfully boring, Darling, the worst.” Boone adjusted his tie once more.

“So sorry to hear. Perhaps tomorrow will be better.” Shannon broke the scene by giggling into her glass.

“Don’t spill anything on the clothes, Shan.” Boone wanted them to be cautious and now he was rethinking this idea all together.

“I didn’t. Don’t worry, they’ll never know.” She reassured him, and it turned out to not be a lie.

 

V. August 15, 1995: _never stray, never break . never . choke on a lie_

“Who’s that?” A girl asked, but Shannon couldn’t remember her name. She did know that her new friend’s father was the president of some company.

“That’s Boone.” Shannon didn’t even have to look up to know that he was coming in from school.

“I mean who is he?” They both watched as Boone waved and bounded up the stairs with his bag.

“What do you mean?” Shannon was tired of playing with this girl and wondered when Sabrina was going to be done talking.

“I mean, is he the pool boy, your brother, or something else?” She asked as if she thought it was normal for a boy his age to be working or if a pool boy would run the staircase to his bedroom. The girl’s innocent appeal was wearing thin quickly.

“I guess he’s my brother then.” She lied, but for that moment it felt true.

“Ohhhh, I know him, he’s the lif-.” Shannon could care less about what the whiny child had to say. Sabrina made her play with all the children that came to house now. Boone told her that it once was his responsibility and he would be with her so it wouldn’t be so bad. She hoped he kept his promise.

“I’m bored.” She said to no one and no one listened.

 

VI. August 15, 1996: _baby’s on fire . better throw her in the water . and all the instruments agree that . her temperature’s rising . but any idiot would know that_

“Boone?” Shannon settled into a seat across the breakfast bar from him and his virtually soggy cereal. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“What is it, Shan?” Boone continued to swallow spoonfuls, eyes never leaving the sad grey milk at the bottom of his bowl.

“Promise me you won’t be mad.” Shannon laid her head on the side of the counter, like she was trying to listen to the ocean. She inched closer until she could see the green of his irises.

“About what?” He’d gotten used to these conversations with her. It was to the point that it was almost like a script with no improvisation.

“You have to promise me first, you have to.” Shannon produced small little tears that wouldn’t trickle down her cheeks.

“I promise.” Then Boone raised his face to meet her as she brought her own up from the slightly sticky surface.

“I went to the stables today to ride Carrot. I know Sabrina got him for your birthday, but you know I’ve always wanted one.” She pouted by puffing out her bottom lip, crinkling the corners around her eyes, and turning her head down to the side.

“No you didn’t.” Boone assured her as much as himself. Her clothes were spotless and nowhere near appropriate for horseback riding. He could see through her act. She almost seemed to be practicing for something that she was sure would happen in the future that she needed to be prepared for.

“I was feeding him and he just fell over. It was like when we watched that building implode and sink into itself last week. It was so sad to watch, but the trainer lady told me that it was peaceful. She said that it was like falling asleep, so he felt no pain. That’s good, right?” Shannon was folding in on herself in the chair by pulling her legs to her on the large seat and rocking with her head obscured by her the sleeves of her shirt.

“He’s not at the stable anymore.” Boone dropped him spoon back into the lonely milk with a resounding clink that was barely heard over Shannon’s hiccuping breaths. He circled around the kitchen island to slick back the hair from her face.

“He’s not?” The new mask unfastening from around the edges of her face. She lifted her face in astonishment causing Boone’s fingers to tangle in her hair. Shannon always cried when Sabrina had tried to braid her hair, brush it, or touch it at all, which left Boone to the task. He’d always retain the memory of being made to brush her hair a hundred times before bed.

“Then let’s go watch a movie.” Shannon cheerfully swiped at the tears on her face, wormed between Boone and the chair, and walked through the swinging door. Boone left his bowl on counter to follow her. The only thing that Shannon had regretted about the exchange was getting dried milk in her hair.

 

VII. August 15, 1997: _the pounding of a lonely sound . you as thin as rain . and me . i wear my heart . like a red stain_

“And who was that?” Shannon asked, gently poking her finger into Boone’s side. She had taken to starting all her sentences as if the conversation had already started. The person in question had just left through the side door of the house, which probably had something to do with Sabrina being due shortly.

“Jake.” Boone prayed that she would leave it at that, but he should have known better. She never could leave anything alone.

“Jake, who?” She had picked up on his tone and now she was bothered that Boone would snap at her over something like this.

“Jake-None-of-Your-Business.” Boone replied smartly and stormed out of foyer.

Three weeks later Jake was carrying Shannon’s books in the hall at school, avoiding Boone’s glare. 

The year before had been strained and the next wouldn’t be any easier.

 

VIII. August 15, 1998: _and i draw a line . to your heart today . to your heart from mine . a line to keep us safe_

In previous years the room would have been illuminated by the ancient Batman night light, instead it was absolutely dark, until the door opened to cast light and shadow that barely reached the side of the room with the bed.

“Boone?” The shadow had a voice apparently and it was quiet with tiny sniffles. It stood in the frame, leaning against it, not making a move toward entering the room.

“What is it?” Boone’s voice was too groggy with sleep to muster an agitated tone. The shadow took form as she walked up to the edge of the bed. With the night light having been retired and the moon on the other side of the house, it was impossible for them to see each other’s expressions.

“It’s late and I’m tired.” Boone snuggled down further into his feather pillows and tried to ignore the girl. She stood there in her oversized T-shirt and shorts, refusing to make a sound.

“We’re too old for this, Shannon.” Despite protesting, he pulled the covers back. She jumped into the bed, lightly jabbing him in the side with her elbow before settling herself with her head on Boone’s shoulder. He peered up at the ceiling for a few moments while neither of them spoke.

“Sometimes I wish we could go somewhere without everyone who gets in the way. Somewhere like an enchanted forest or mysterious castle. What do you think?” She went through stages like this often. She’d been going back and forth between extremes for a while, so Boone should have known to enjoy this while it lasted.

“You wouldn’t like being stuck in a castle forever and you hate getting your shoes dirty.” Even in fantasies he was the voice of reason, dismissing any chances of having fun.

“True, and we’d have to go somewhere with a pool, so we can swim. Yeah, but we would need someplace to get food and someone to clean the pool. Maybe the ocean would be a better idea. You could be the lifeguard while I’m swimming, then I’d be the lifeguard while you swim. The ocean would never run out of fish either. Perfect.” Shannon ignored his consideration, opting to continue her imagining.

“Sounds good, Shan, I’ll get right on that.” He had tried to keep the drowsiness and exhaustion from coming out, but he could tell he had failed. He’d changed the ambiance of their dialogue away from the lighthearted, therefore ruining it.

“I’m cold.” She sounded small and Boone tried not to think about why she seemed so fragile.

“I know.” He twisted to his side to lay his arm over her rib cage, placing his hand on the curve of her shoulder. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, her hot breath clinging to his skin, making it itch. He, in turn, rested his cheek on her thick layer of hair. Creating a cocoon for the two of them, he attempted to pull the covers back up around them, but Shannon caught his hand.

“What are you doing?” Boone tried to wretch his hand away, but she had a tight grip around his wrist, bring it to her chest. He clenched his fingers into a fist and squeezed his eyes shut.

“This is my heart, Boone. I want you to know that.” Her gaze wore away at his eyelids and he opened them to the gleam of what he thought could be a tear, but he couldn’t tell in the darkness. At her words, he relaxed his hands until his fingertips brushed over her collarbone. 

He didn’t make a sound as his head went loose and fell against the pillow next to her. Now his breath tickled the hair around her ear.

“No matter what, I love you and you love me.” She said the words with such force and convention, as if she couldn’t bear the thought that there could be one without the other in the equation.

 

IX. August 15, 1999: _hey you pale and sickly child . you’re death and living reconciled . been walking home a crooked mile_

The hot water shot over his head, raking a trail down his back. He heavily sighed into the flux of liquid, taking some in on the inhale and sputtering. The shadow and sound of the door being thrust open shocked Boone out of his reverie. The accompanying sounds of retching made him clutch blindly through the opening for the towel rack beyond the glass.

“You have to stop doing this.” He said as he wrapped the towel around his waist not quite twice. He didn’t have to look through the transparent material between them to see Shannon kneeling in front of the toilet.

“I’m really sick,” She sounded the part, but added, “you asshole.” Boone knew that he’d never enjoy his shower with the loud suffering mere feet away.

“Why don’t you throw up in your own bathroom. We do have our own you know. I swear, if you’ve stuck your fingers down your throat or are drunk before noon again...” He trailed off as he shoved back the sliding door with meticulously calculated skill, wanting Shannon to know how much he was irritated.

“Wouldn’t have made it.” She replied quickly before leaning back over to discharge the meager contents of her stomach. Boone immediately had taken note of the way a sheen of sweat formed over her face. From that observation he deduced that she wasn’t lying because she hated sweating and would avoid sweating in front of anyone at all costs. He’d witnessed the aftermath of her dieting method and knew her appearance never wavered through it.

“Sorry.” He stepped out of the glass enclosure and dripped onto the fur rug. His hair still held the remnants of conditioner, but he neglected it in favor of reaching down to hold Shannon’s hair back from plunging into the depths of water in the bowl. She moaned her thanks when he crouched beside her as best he could with a towel secured around his waist.

“You’re so red.” She commented on the harsh color of his skin as his hands ran over her shoulders. Her hand pierced the space between them to apply an icy touch to the area over his collarbone. In contrast to Boone, Shannon’s hands were clammy with cold sweat from slipping over the floor tiles.

“It’s nothing.” He flinched away in an instant, backing against the door like he’d been burned.

“What’s with you?” Shannon asked weakly.

“Nothing, I’ll go down to the kitchen to get you water and crackers.” His words mostly lost as he launched himself out of the room like it was an everyday occurrence for him to run around the house drenched and slightly soapy.

 

X. August 15, 2000: well no one told me about her . the way she lies

“Are you her boyfriend?” The lady at the desk asked, her grey hair shining in the nauseating fluorescent lighting of the waiting room. They had used the side door and Shannon was wearing a pair of hideously large, dark sunglasses. Boone had cringed at their childlike appearance on her face. She had insisted on wearing one of those large, black hats like Katherine Hepburn in the movies and he hadn’t forced her to take it off once they’d reached the clinic.

“Yeah, but he’s not the father.” Shannon lied. Boone was caught off guard and tried to mask any evidence of the truth from his face. She had always been better at dishonesty than him.

“Alright, fill these out and return them to this window.” The lady, whose tag proclaimed Lillian, gave off the impression that she didn’t care about the soap opera of the girls that went through her station. Boone took the clipboard with paperwork attached and a pen from her.

“You didn’t need to lie.” Boone wrote in the lines and checked boxes. Shannon sat in one of the horrid green chairs and Boone followed suit.

“I just don’t want this getting back to Sabrina.” She had started to pick at her nails and cursed herself for the habit. She’d have to get Boone to apply nail polish to them again. That way she wouldn’t chew at them.

“It won’t if we do this right.” Boone scribbled on the papers with the rapidly emptying pen. He had planned on paying in cash, so the charge wouldn’t show on a credit card statement or wind up on a bank statement. If he was careful Sabrina would never hear about Shannon’s mistake. He felt a tinge of guilt in his chest at calling it a mistake, but what else was he going to call it? Nephew? Subsequently, that feeling was trailed by the urge to question why her current boyfriend hadn’t came with her or if he was told at all.

“Look, I know you hate this place, so why don’t you wait in the car or go to the coffee shop down the street?” Shannon suggested.

“I don’t want to leave you alone.” Boone whispered to her, another guy about his age aiming his gaze between the two of them from over his Time magazine. Silently thanking god that there were no protesters, he fought the urge to do something childish himself, like stick his tongue out or flip him off.

“I want to do this alone. You had nothing to do with this and I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.” She looked down at her hands and decided that she definitely had to do something about her nails.

“I wasn’t dragged, Shan. We both know that. You’re my sister, my responsibility.” Boone stopped writing on the medical forms and looked directly at Shannon. He wanted her to know that he would do anything for her, including this. It was as much his job as saving people from drowning, paying no mind that all he did was get a suntan and gawked at by teenage girls.

“This is something I have to do on my own. I need for you to go.” Her eyes pleaded with his from behind the tinting and he never could say no to her, even when it was in her own best interests.

“Call me the second you come out. I researched on the internet and I’ll take care of you for the rest of the week. Sabrina is still on her book tour, so we should be fine.” He passed the envelope and finished paperwork into her quivering hand, kissed her forehead, and dashed out the door, wanting to taste fresh air. As he left, Shannon was walking to the bathroom.

His cell phone played a familiar tune five cappuccinos and 45 minutes later. Shannon stood by the side door of the waiting room, waiting. The jerk across the room was still there, in another chair, shaking his head slightly to himself. Boone idly wondered if the guy thought an abortion clinic was a great way to pick up chicks as they walked through the parking lot to his car.

 

XI. August 15, 2001: _my pretty mouth will frame the phrases that will . disprove your faith in man_

“Where is she?” Boone looked at his mother. She was flipping through a glossy magazine with all the zest of a vulture. There was no pause of her fingers over the pages or flinch in her tightened face.

“Who?”

“You know who, Mother.” He’d stormed in the room with all the fire of an adult, but being in the room made him feel like the whimpering child he was. The fists his hands had made were already loosening and he couldn’t reinforce them.

“I sent her to boarding school, Boone.” Sabrina informed him. She sipped on her martini. It was no later than half past ten in the morning. She thought she could control the world from around the stem of a martini glass.

“I don’t understand.” Boone looked helplessly around the library, hoping that one of the spines would help him, but all he saw were rows of books that they had pretended to have read. 

“You think I want to bury the bodies of web-footed babies in my backyard?” Sabrina knew they didn’t actually share any DNA that would cause this, but she also knew that Boone would still feel shame over the idea. He would have thought that it felt like she was pouring the salt from the rim of her glass onto his open wound, but that too poetic for what this situation really was.

“What are you talking about?” He spit out, know full well what she had meant. The phrase about mind over matter played in him head like somehow nature would know that Shannon was supposed to be his sister.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Boone.” She wasn’t going to play into his denial. Her son was better than that, even if he didn’t actualize it. 

He’d kept his silence, knowing there was nothing he could say to make the rest of the world go away. With that sentence, Boone remembered the conversation between them about where his name had come from. Boone had been Sabrina’s maiden name. He’d gotten the distinct impression that he was always to be Boone, never a Carlisle. He still stood at the doorway, not having fully entered the room.

“She will never be anything other than trash. No amount of money can erase what a person is.” His mother explained as Boone squeezed his eyes shut. “And don’t think that closing your eyes will make the world cease existence. I’ve fixed your problem by sending her away, maybe now you’ll be able to concentrate on more important things like running your division of the company.”

“Yes, Mother.” There was no fight or argument left in him. Nothing left to do besides grab one of Sabrina’s magazines and join her in casually perusing over the latest fashions.

 

XII. August 15, 2002: _the secrets I’ve kept locked away no one can ever see . wounds so deep they never show they never go away_

“We’re getting married.” Shannon simply announced to the room. No “hello,” not a “how have you been?” She and the latest boy, Mark or Phillip or some name that Boone recognized from the Bible, had arrived minutes prior and had remained silent until then. They sat in the front room with them on the couch and Boone standing near the door. Sabrina was still out for the day, not to return for hours, and Boone had forgotten all his manners. He quickly excused himself into the kitchen to get them something. Anything.

“She said that you’d be a tough sell.” He’d been followed by the supposed fiancee. Shannon had gone missing from the boarding school weeks before. They all choose to ignore that fact.

“Excuse me?” Boone turned, startled, to face the muscular body with sickeningly dark blonde hair and blue eyes. He suppressed the urge to dry heave.

“Sorry, it’s nothing bad, she said that you’d be protective of her and I want to do this right.” They both fidgeted, shifting their weight. Boone hadn’t been ready for this. He hadn’t had the time on the plan on the way like the other times. Instead he stood there with his hands flat on top of the counter. The staff had been given the day off. He hadn’t even intended on staying the day. He didn’t know where a damn thing was in the kitchen.

“You’re not the first and you won’t be the last, so don’t think you’re anything special.” Boone expounded, like he had with the others. The Frenchman’s weakness had been his son and his education. In the end, it had been no hard work. Shannon hadn’t even called him that time; Sabrina had insisted he check up on his sister to be sure she wasn’t doing anything unseemly that would reflect poorly on the family, but then he’d seen the color of her wrists at lunch. Boone had been surprised that Shannon had even considered being with the guy in the first place. The kid would have been a deal breaker. He assumed it was because she hated being reminded that she’d once been a child that was weak and powerless.

The man stood there, not saying a word, a look of disbelief and another emotion painted itself on his face.

“Everyone can be bought. We all have our price.” Boone knew it was risky doing this with Shannon in the house, but he prayed it really was as big as all the magazines said.

“Maybe you don’t give people enough credit.” He finally opened his mouth and Boone couldn’t listen. The door swung open to reveal Shannon, so Boone didn’t have enough time to formulate a retort.

“Let’s design my dress, big brother.” She broadcast along with her smile as she leveraged herself up onto the counter inches away from his hands.

“You want me to plan the wedding?” Boone looked at her face, trying to read it, but there was nothing there that he could see besides the joy of the upcoming wedding.

“Of course, silly, why would I want anyone else?” She said it like the answer was so obvious that any idiot would have known. Perhaps it was. She motioned for the other person to clear the room. “Wonder around the house while we talk girl talk.”

“Be careful not to get lost, but if you do, there are intercoms.” Boone looked at the steel refrigeration unit passed Phillip or Mark. He left the room like an obedient, little puppy.

“What are you doing Shan?” He transferred his hands on either side of Shannon’s legs. She made no move no shove him out of the way.

“Quel autre choix qu’ai-t-je?” She too looked at the refrigerator, speaking another language to throw him off.

“You know I don’t speak French.” He wove his head from side to side, trying to catch her gaze.

“We’re flying to Vegas, so you don’t have to worry about everything. I just want the dress to be perfect. Every girl’s dream, right?” Boone thought he heard desperation, but she was probably tired.

“You’re going on a plane?” Boone asked her, finally able to look up at her eyes.

“I have to get over my irrational fear of flying one of these days, why not now?” She sighed heavily and let her back rest on the wooden cabinets behind her.

“Is this what you want?” He took her face in his hands, fingers delving into her hair.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” And that was the end of it. She slid down and Boone followed her back into front room. The rest of the day was spent planning the event and making calls. Boone ignored the dull hum in his ear and two months later Phillip, not Mark, named his price.

 

XIII. August 15, 2003: _isolation will cradle the lies . of things left unsaid_

Boone had been wandering the streets of Malibu on his way to meet up with a few friends when he thought he’d seen Shannon. He’d run after her for nearly a block, calling her name. When she finally stopped he realized that she had brown hair, was much shorter than him, wore glasses, and was somewhat overweight. It wasn’t her; she didn’t look anything like Shannon.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” He apologized and started to walk away, but the woman stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I just got here, would you mind showing me around? My name’s Marie.” Marie let her fingers linger over his leather jacket, then dropped them to the sides of her putrid green miniskirt.

“I hate Malibu.” He’d said and took off in a run. That was the last time he went to Malibu.

 

XIV. August 15, 2004: _she shows no emotion at all . stare into space like a dead china doll . I’m never gonna know you now . but I’m gonna love you anyhow_

Shannon had come in Boone’s hotel room well after midnight. Everything blurred and melted into each other, as if he had become contact drunk off the waves she radiated. He’d expected her to taste like numbing vodka, but she must have had Long Island Ice Teas because all he could smell was the burning of lemon. When his brain began to register reality again, she’d begun to kiss at his injuries, his knuckles first with harsh slides of tongue following the sleeves of his dress shirt being passed over them. When she’d come to the small mass of bruises on the side of his face that were masked with amateur hands, she had graduated to adding teeth.

It’d felt like time was breathing with them for those few moments. It expanded and contracted against its will. But it was a lie they ignored. Time doesn’t change for anyone; it trudges along without fail, regardless of who slips along the way. Time was surely happening, just not anywhere near them.

He wanted to hit her. He felt it under his skin everywhere it touched her. People who say that they can’t tell where they end and the other person begins are full of shit. There was this scratchy sensation that made him consider scrapping the top layer of his skin off, only the first though. Maybe he’d travel to the beach in the morning to rub fistfuls of wet sand into himself. He didn’t want to leave marks on her; he wanted to leave them in her. He wanted to crawl inside and claw his way back out. On second thought he wanted her to crawl, wanted her to be truly battered and broken for once. Her shell cracked by no one else but him. Needed her to understand that no matter how many times she tried to get away from him, she’d drag herself back without being trapped.

He could feel regret and ignominy gnawing at the curves of his mind before they’d barely even initiated this remarkable idiosyncrasy. This would have all been avoided if she had asked, but that was the while problem wasn’t it?

They’d stayed like that until as the daylight began to break into the room. Shannon curled up in the chair and Boone on the edge of the bed. The view through the window mocked them. He knew he should call the airline to book their flight, but he didn’t. He knew Shannon wished the curtains were closed by the way she squirmed, like she wasn’t used to the different angle of the sun in Australia. Yet she refused to be the first to move.

He wanted to move, at the very least, a fraction of an inch, to do all the things he had to get done. Shower, call Sabrina, pack, have Shannon cover up the damage to his face with what should have been an obvious skill, so Sabrina wouldn’t question, and lock the mini bar. 

Now in the morning light he could see the clear, unblinking, hard truth and it wasn’t pretty. The night had glossed over the lies they’d told. He would eventually move, just not yet, he wanted to continue treading the water for a little longer.

 

XV. August 15, 2005: _buried lives . mysteries of our disguise revolve . circumstances will decide_

“Oh, Fuck you, Boone.” Shannon screamed for all the caves to hear. She couldn’t remember why she was so seething with hatred of Boone at the moment. It had to be something important because her chest was constricting and the area behind her eyes started to ache dully.

“No, Shannon, fuck you.” Boone can recall exactly how this argument had started five months back when he moved to the caves and Shannon resisted following him, resolving to wait it out on the divide between the jungle and the beach.

“You already did.” Her tongued burned as much as her nose. Realizing that she’d mentioned “the thing that had happened that one time in that place that they never speak of”, she fortified her skeleton and skin to not show any sign of backing down.

“We both know who got fucked that night.” With that Boone had left the rock formation he’d been resting against and stomped out of the cave. Shannon turned to watch the water fall and mist spray on her face. She sneered to herself, to Boone’s back, to the people who hadn’t batted an eyelash at her display, and to anyone that would play attention.

Days later, Shannon made Boone drag her luggage to his the caves. She demanded that Boone take up residence in one of the more spacious caverns toward the rear, stating that it would be safer than living at the mouth where people would become polar bear food first. No one blinked an eye or seemed all that surprised.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know it’s bad French in XII, that’s the point. Shannon speaks really bad French.
> 
> Lyrics:
> 
> I. “Rev. 22:20" by Puscifer featuring Maynard James Keenan and Danny Lohner  
> II. “Don’t Move” by Butch Walker  
> III. “Novocaine for the Soul” by The Eels  
> IV. “This Place is a Prison” by The Postal Service  
> V. “Judith” by A Perfect Circle  
> VI. “Baby’s One Fire” by Brian Eno  
> VII. “Strangelove Addiction” by the Supreme Beings of Leisure  
> VIII. “One Line” by PJ Harvey  
> IX. “Dream On” by Depeche Mode  
> X. “About Her” by Malcolm McLaren  
> XI. “Fast as You Can” by Fiona Apple  
> XII. “It’s Easier to Run” by Linkin Park  
> XIII. “Sister Awake” by The Tea Party  
> XIV. “Waltz #2" by Elliot Smith  
> XV. “Sour Times” by Portishead


End file.
